


shivers down my spine

by WhispyWitch



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is Soft for his demon, M/M, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), honestly pure fluff, touch-averse Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-09-01 00:23:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20249092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhispyWitch/pseuds/WhispyWitch
Summary: Well, Aziraphale thought, watching a small black shape rapidly slither away,that certainly wasn’t how I expected this to go.or: Crowley has some unexpected Hell baggage. They deal with it.





	shivers down my spine

**Author's Note:**

> For @ardyforshort on Twitter
> 
> Written for the GO Summer 2019 Fan Exchange! The prompt was, more or less, a touch-averse Crowley. Hope I did it justice despite the low wordcount.
> 
> It's my first fic on AO3 *and* my first fic published in English... so, yes, I'm a bit nervous about this.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> (_Please,_ no unsolicited crit. If you see any spelling or grammar mistakes, feel free to point them out - English is not my first language, and I'm always trying to improve - but unsolicited writing crit just makes me less likely to write more. This, and every other text I post, has been beta read by at least two people, who I trust to give me good feedback. I don't need more from strangers.  
Thanks in advance!)

_Well_, Aziraphale thought, watching a small black shape rapidly slither away, _that certainly wasn’t how I expected this to go._

Out of all the possible outcomes he could’ve expected after spontaneously hugging Crowley from behind, him immediately turning into a snake wasn’t one of them.

After the Armageddon’t, he and Crowley tentatively entered something that could be called a relationship. Neither of them had much experience in that regard, and most of their actions were rather hesitant. Apart from an honest conversation and some admissions concerning their feelings (which were rather due after over six thousand years of dancing around each other), not much has changed, in fact. They’d taken to spending most of their time together, a definite step up from their sparse meetings through the years. Crowley was sleeping in Aziraphale’s upstairs flat, previously rarely used, on most nights, and there were quite a few stacks of books spread around the Mayfair flat.

When it came to physical contact, most of it so far had been initiated by Crowley, who seemed to relish the concrete proof of his angel being alive and well. Hand holding was now an everyday occurrence. Aziraphale got used to fingers or a foot subtly touching him nearly all the time, keeping small points of contact without being overwhelming. There were also a few hugs and several hand kisses, chaste but sweet.

The angel was, therefore, at a bit of a loss at Crowley’s rather dramatic[1] reaction. The hug was perhaps a bit abrupt, but that alone couldn’t warrant a sudden shape change and subsequent escape.

Aziraphale found the demon after half an hour of searching, in one of his favourite teapots. The hunt would probably had ended faster, had he not somehow closed the lid behind him.

“Hello, dear”, Aziraphale greeted the snake, who was currently squinting in the general direction of his face. He lifted his head and caught onto the lid, evidently trying to pull it back on.

“Oh, none of that, Crowley!”, the angel admonished, gently booping his snout away. “Please come out and tell me what’s wrong.”

Even through the limited expressiveness of a snake, it was clear that Crowley was about to deny that request. Subjected to Aziraphale’s heavy gaze, though, he put his head down, giving a serpent equivalent of a heavy sigh, and slowly slinked out of the teapot.

A moment later Crowley was sitting on the table, posing nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t just caught hiding away in Aziraphale’s fine china.

“Crowley...”, Aziraphale started, clearly not quite knowing where to begin. “What–”

“It’s... it’s nothing, angel, really.” The pained expression on the demon’s face would be cute, Aziraphale supposed, if it wasn’t worrying. “I just... panicked. It’s alright.”

“But how can it be alright? You panicked because I hugged you!” It surprised him how desperate he was sounding. “Was it- Did I do something wrong? Or is it still because– because of the apocalypse, or...”

“No! No, I... It’s just... Look, I-”, Crowley looked as if he’d love to be back inside the teapot. “It’s… Hell was really crowded, you know?”

That was a non-sequitur if Aziraphale’s ever heard one. “I’m sorry?”

“Hell. You’ve seen it, angel, it’s a basement. Cold, dark, claustrophobic basement. And- it’s always, everyone’s clambering all over each other, you know?” A shiver ran down Crowley’s entire body. “Trying to get the best assignments, better view, or just to be a bloody nuisance. It’s fucking awful, what it is.”

_Oh._ “Oh, Crowley”, Aziraphale said softly.

“Yeah. It’s just”, the demon sighed, “you took me by surprise, and I didn’t know it was you, and - I don’t like touching, sometimes.”

Ironically, the angel wanted nothing more than to hold him right now, to assure him it’s alright and that he understands. He fought hard against the instinct. Crowley deserved better. “So you’re saying… you don’t like it, when I touch you?”

“Not always”, he said hurriedly. “Sometimes it’s fine. Mostly when... I can see you approaching.”

“Okay. So...” Aziraphale slowly extended his hand, catching Crowley’s long fingers in his. “Is this alright?” He raised their joined hands to his mouth, brushing his lips across Crowley’s knuckles.

The demon softened. “Yeah. It’s good.”

“And the hugs? And kisses?”

“That… I’d rather not”, he admitted. “It depends? But it’s a no more often than a yes.” Some of the tension returned to his shoulders. “We… I know you like the touching…”

Aziraphale shushed him, a smile playing on his lips. “Oh, dear. Yes, I do rather like to touch you, but it doesn’t matter. You don’t, so we don’t. It’s perfectly alright.”

Crowley’s fair skin became considerably more pink. “...yeah?”

“Of course. I’d never do something you’re uncomfortable with, darling.” He lightly squeezed the hand he was still holding. “Now, would you perhaps like some tea?”

“Tea sounds perfect, angel.” The demon’s smile was small, but one of his rare genuine ones. Aziraphale treasured the memory of each one of them.

“Splendid. I’ll put the kettle on - be a darling and wash the teapot, would you?”

* * *

1Dramatics were, obviously, par for the course when dealing with Crowley; it was just in this particular instance they seemed even more unfounded than usual. [return to text]


End file.
